Cicero stared at the young wizard riding atop the giant snail. Their little task was over — and the wizard was one of the keys to their success.
Of course, they probably would never have even been assigned the strange task if not for the wizard. He wanted to see an actual spire — specifically one that was in the midst of rising.
Many thought it was folly — but the captain believed the wizard had his reasons. Evergreen stood to benefit from everything it could learn about how the spires functioned or how to detect existing ones.
Jeremy — no, the Scourge — said the spires were conduits of power. They were like gates or relay stations from which the Ice could influence the land and send power to its minions.
His men told him how the wizard battled with the spire — to the point that he was muttering nonsense and hallucinating.
It was a miracle the Scourge survived. No, he didn’t just survive — he triumphed over the Ice.
Was it the Blackstaff’s plan all along? Did he train his son to fight the Ice — long before it became a threat? Was his insight that clear?
Cicero stared at the wizard. He seemed to have planned for everything that they would face. Even his ridiculous choice for a mount was vital in their triumph, leading away the remorhaz.
He frowned. He couldn’t even think of the proper name of the beast without remembering the imagery the wizard conjured with a seemingly innocent question.
There was no mistaking his resemblance to his father. They were masters of the battlefield but dotards when it came to having proper conversations.
Things became even more ridiculous on their way back.
He expected to see the burned husk of the snail. He even had his men prepare to battle the remorhaz.
Instead, they saw the snail seemingly inspecting the corpse of the crawler.
One of his men approached the two gargantuan beasts — thinking the fight wasn’t over. Both horse and rider collapsed when they got close.
The horse was now on one of the carts, along with its rider, Uthrin. The Scourge said the citadel could probably restore their movements. Otherwise, they’d have to take a trip to the Elswind estate or his shop near Bountiful.
What kind of snail erects a soul-sucking ward while fighting a remorhaz?!
Cicero couldn’t even scold the Scourge for what the snail did. How could he? All of his men lived to return to the citadel. Two dozen of them might not be able to return to active duty because of their injuries — but they were saved from death by the wizard’s healing drops. The snail also dealt with the crawler — a foe that his men would have been pressed to defeat.
He could still picture the two’s reunion. It was like a little boy reuniting with his long-lost puppy — with the Scourge acting more like the puppy. There was a lot of circling and jumping around — they were clearly happy to see each other after their long hour of separation.
His men would have eagerly joined in the celebrations if not for the soul-sucking ward that paralyzed anyone who came near. The captain didn’t even bother to wonder why the wizard wasn’t affected — he was just glad the wizard and his snail managed to drag Uthrin and the horse away from the strange formation.
The snail even dragged the body of the crawler with a bit of urging from the wizard. It was relatively more preserved than some of the Ice’s creatures — perhaps something to do with its natural habitat being cold regions.
The men wanted to harvest its parts as trophies or armor. The crawler’s chitinous shell would probably be an excellent material for fire-resistant armor — a lot good it would do against the Ice.
Ilia chimed in, alerting them that a senior wizard in Evergreen wanted the remorhaz’ blood if they could get it. Apparently, she sent word of their encounter with the huge beast thru one of her birds — receiving a reply after the battle at the spire ended.
Of course, the Scourge volunteered to extract the blood, saying he had a bit of experience with drawing the blood of gargantuan monsters. Cicero didn’t even want to know why that was so.
He even produced a large crystal vat by making his snail go around in circles. It had a multitude of jagged edges, but it managed to contain the crawler’s searing orange blood.
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The trip back to Evergreen took longer. Not that the men or horses were tired — the carts were just laden with an extra horse and a volatile vat of arctic crawler blood.
There was no fanfare as the gates opened to let them in. The guards looked solemn — probably assuming that they failed or retreated because of their early return and lack of casualties.
Cicero turned to the Scourge. His snail was bound to elicit a few reactions. The captain took a while to spot the wizard. He was riding on a cart, his snail nowhere to be found.
***
“The vanguard succeeded?”
It was the day after the vanguard’s return and Quinlin, head of the wizards of the citadel, was listening to a report from one of his apprentices.
“It seemed so, Magus,” Ocelon replied. “They claimed they brought down a spire and eliminated the forces guarding it.”
“Preposterous!” Quinlin slammed his palm on the oaken table. “It took more than half the citadel’s standing army — and the help of our wizards — to bring down a standing spire and free the land of the Ice’s grasp. How could the vanguard do so with their small numbers?”
“It said in their report that the spire was yet to be fully functional.” the apprentice checked his notes. “The Blackstaff’s agent attested to the veracity of the report — they even managed to get a vat of remorhaz blood for Mage Nerin.”
“Remorhaz blood?” Quinlin scoffed. “They were too far from the Ice for a remorhaz to appear. Did Nerin test the blood?”
“Indeed, Magus,” Ocelon confirmed. “Perfectly preserved — though the container was strange.”
“How so?”
“It was a vat of jagged glass,” the apprentice explained. “Almost impossible to transport without getting multiple cuts. It was as if they didn’t want to part with the blood — or they wanted to give whoever was receiving it a hard time.”
Quinlin scoffed. Levitation magic could have easily solved the issue. A vat of jagged glass was a trifling problem.
“What of their original mission?”
“The Scourge came to a few of our mages yesterday. He drew a couple of spell matrices that he said could signify the presence of a new spire.” Ocelon checked his notes again. “He said finding a way to detect the matrices was up to us.”
“Where is this Scourge?” Quinlin asked, intrigued by the Blackstaff’s young wizard. “Offer him a position in Evergreen. He could be a researcher like Nerin. Surely, he wouldn’t refuse a higher standing within our council of mages.”
“I’m sorry, Magus,” the apprentice started. “The Scourge left before the dawn — something about tending to his shop.”
***
Jeremy rode atop his beloved snail, wearing a new set of wizardly robes.
It was good to be away from the citadel. Fighting for the sake of humanity was good and all — but he would rather stay in his shop and make money.
The constant battles and life-threatening situations were a good break from the stress of his ordinary life. Now, he was back to facing confusing people, demanding customers, and screaming children.
He wondered how his butler fared in his absence — and there was still that man Shelby was holding. He would have to explain the man’s nakedness before bringing him out for Sebas and the others to see.
They could probably do the deed now. Shelby would bring the man out — and he would dress him up in the clothes he previously borrowed.
No. It was too much of a risk.
With his luck, a caravan would suddenly appear just as he was dressing the assassin — or was it kidnapper? Either way, his dignity as a wizard would vanish in an instant.
They rode for another couple of minutes when sure enough, a caravan appeared.
Jeremy praised his decision not to be hasty and to wait until they got home to address the problem with the man.
He learned a lot from his short stay at Evergreen — spear skills, spire-making, banishment via sacrifice, and the tolerance of ordinary people to various levels of pain.
His hand wandered to the skull mask sitting on the top of his head — a parting gift from his father to replace the shorn horns that didn’t match his current look.
The mask looked more like a pumpkin carving than a realistic depiction of a skull. His father probably had the same level of skill in forging that he had — which was very little.
It was supposed to protect his face from knives, hammers, and the usual weapons. He had to pull it down to activate its psychic features — but he was in no hurry to look like a pumpkin just yet.
The trip to Bountiful and then to the Corner Shop™ was a long one. He could have contacted Sebas for one of his doors or taken a shortcut through a hell or two — but Jeremy preferred to savor the trip.
It seemed like a chapter in his life was closing — and a new one was starting.
He patted Shelby — infusing the snail with infernal mana.
“Let’s go home, girl. Let’s go home.”